that is really good. I like it.
Its very good, thanks for sharing it with us.
Good story. A lot of the stories out there right now are about taking the easy way out and how ridiculous 'heroics' can be; you get us back to the basics of 'doing the right thing.' 
A good story. Nice to read a little quality characterization for a change. Hard to tell if I'd prefer it as a prelude of a larger story or as-is.
One question though, what did you mean by "sybillant accent?" Sibilant means a hissing sound or emphasized S's (and other similar sounds) in speech and she didn't use any in the sentence she just spoke before descibing it that way.
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A good story. Nice to read a little quality characterization for a change. Hard to tell if I'd prefer it as a prelude of a larger story or as-is.
One question though, what did you mean by "sybillant accent?" Sibilant means a hissing sound or emphasized S's (and other similar sounds) in speech and she didn't use any in the sentence she just spoke before descibing it that way.
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D'oh. Poor word choice on my part. I was looking for a word to describe softly slurred speech. 'Sibilant' isn't the word I was looking for, I guess. 
Whoa, I didn't realize until your last post, that Moir wrote that O.o Great job, Moir... Very great.
*I'm gonna see if I can set aside the time to FINALLY write Faerie's bio... At last, I've thought of an origin...*
This is a short piece I originally wrote to be submitted for the CoH Comic Book. Well, I never sent it in, but I would like to share it anyway. Please read it and tell me what you think.
WARNING: There is a little strong language in here, which I'm not going to censor because it lessens the impact of the story I'm trying to tell.
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Fragmented
By Jennifer Allen
"The situation could quickly get out of hand as more and more citizens are flocking to the Council banners..."
I look up at the television screen. Typical hero garbage, an attractive young reporter standing inside a Council base with some anonymous Cape. Before I catch his name, though, something draws my attention. I glance over just in time to see a woman walk though the door. My jaw drops, actually drops, as she steps out of the pool of sunlight and into the smoky din of the bar.
She is gorgeous, perhaps a little more than five feet tall, but not by much. She walks across the floor to the counter where I sit, her steps graceful. I can tell by the way she walks that she has been trained in some form of martial arts, and my first foolish thought is to ask her which one. Her hair, dark as a raven's wing, falls just so on either side of a heartshaped China doll face. Concentric arcs of circular tattoos give her a decidely exotic look, starting high on her forehead and dissapearing down into the collar of her jacket. How far do those go? Stop staring, Talon! For all that they're set in an angry scowl, her lips are just the way I like them, full without having that 'pouty' look,. And her eyes...Almond shaped, slightly tilted and set just a little too far apart. Deep like the sea, the color of a summer sky...and as empty as a politician's promise.
I can't help but stare at her, despite the fact that the pretty newswoman is talking about something else now.
"And in other news, the elusive vigilante Aegis Mighty has dealt another blow to Crey Biotech. The Countess couldn't be reached for comment..."
"Turn that crap off, Marco," she says to the man behind the counter, gesturing to the TV as she takes a seat two stools down from mine. Her voice isn't what I expected; she speaks perfect English with only a hint of a sybillant accent.
It is here that I notice the battered helmet tucked beneath her arm, and the emptiness in her eyes begins to make a little more sense.
The bartender changes the channel, infomercials, soap operas and talk-shows passing across the screen until he finally settles on something. Joy of joys, the country music video station. He reaches into the cooler and takes out a Miller Genuine Draft, opening it and setting it in front of her without a word. Apparently she is a regular, though I haven't seen her in the past six days that I've spent in here sharing my sorrows with my old friend Jamison's...
She takes a sip, elegant even in the simple motion of lifting the beer bottle to her lips. I want to talk to her. I shouldn't, but I want to. She looks so lost, and it is this more than anything that makes up my mind for me. I grab my drink and move down.
"Hey," I say softly. "Can I get that for you?" A quick gesture to the Miller here. I don't want to give her the wrong idea.
She looks up at me, and I can't help but wonder what she sees. "Alright," she replies after a moment.
I can feel a foolish grin spread across my face and I want to slap myself. "Uh, I'm Talon Wesley," I say aloud.
"Are you going to sit down, Talon Wesley?" she asks.
"Uh, yeah." Idiot. She thinks you're an idiot, Talon. You know that little voice in your head that tells you you're making a fool of yourself? I hate that guy.
I sit down on the stool beside her. "So...Nice helmet. Don't see too many members of the Council in this part of town."
She fixes those oh-so-blue eyes on me and the look in them could freeze steam. "I'm not part of the Council," she says coolly.
God damn, Talon, now you've done it. "My mistake." I take my drink and make to stand up but she catches my arm.
"I was an officer in the Fifth Column," she says softly.
It hits me like lightning, no [censored], and suddenly it all makes sense. "After the schism you had nothing," I say, words coming out before I really think about them. "No meaning, no purpose to your life." Note to self...Engage brain then engage mouth...
She turns her head away and says nothing, the fury in her eyes sending a loud and clear message of its own.
Keep digging that hole, Talon, you'll be in Asia soon. Maybe she has a twin sister who's not pissed off at you? "It's okay," I add quickly. "I feel like that sometimes. Most of the time."
Just as quickly that dark haired head swings back, those haunting eyes fixed piercingly on my own. "What the [censored] do you know about it?" She laughs bitterly. "You think I haven't had this tried on me before? I'm not stupid. You act all sympathetic and empathize with me, so you get can me drunk and convince me to go home with you."
My hands go up in self-defense. "Not at all," I say quickly, hoping that it's not too late for damage control. "I do understand how you feel, honestly. The Fifth Column may not have had all the best ideas, but they were far preferable to the Council."
Something in her seems to break at my words. She shakes her head. "No," she says. "Nothing's changed, not really. The atrocities stay the same."
"Then why...?"
"It was my life." A simple statement, spoken without shame. "There used to be a reason. I just can't remember what it was. It didn't matter anyway; there didn't need to be a reason." She looks away, dark lashes breaking like a wave against her pale skin as she closes her eyes. "But now...You were right. I don't know what to do now, and I'm terrified."
How can someone seem so old and jaded in one moment and so innocent in the next? Almost of its own will, my hand goes to her shoulder to comfort her. "It's alright," I say, the words sounding hollow even in my own ears.
She shrugs it off, the window into her soul suddenly gone as swiftly as it opened. She stares defiantly at me, but the fire in those eyes gives me hope. "So, big shot? You said it gets better. Enlighten me."
I take a deep breath and down the rest of my whiskey. "Not too long ago I was employed as a juggernaut for Crey Industries. At first, I followed every order, even though a lot of the things I was told to do turned my stomach. There was this feeling inside that just kept getting bigger, this voice telling me that it was wrong, until I decided one day that I'd had enough."
I glance up at her then and there is something like hunger shining in her eyes. "What did you do?" she asks softly.
"I broke into an office. I'd planned to just make a mess, but I found some plans for upcoming projects. Plans for terrible things that I couldn't ignore. I found out everything that I could and put a stop to it." I know I shouldn't be telling her this, but I find the words are just rushing out. "I left a note for Countess Crey, saying that the people of Paragon City wouldn't stand for any further exploitation."
"You're him," She glances towards the television, which has somehow found its way back to the news. Her voice is barely a whisper and I hope that no one else heard her. I nod slowly. A hint of accusation enters her voice then. "You're just another Cape."
I bring my fist down hard on the counter. "No, damn it all! I didn't do it for money, or glory, or recognition! I did it because it was the right thing to do!" People are looking at us now, heads coming up all over the bar. More publicity than I want, but at the moment I don't really give a damn.
Her expression melts. She is open, defenseless. "Did it make you feel better? Doing the right thing?"
"Yes. You have no idea how much better."
She stares at me, the naked helplessness in her eyes almost too much for me to bear. "I don't know what the right thing is," she says. I can't pull my gaze away from her and I breathe a silent prayer of thanksgiving as she breaks first and looks down.
I grab her hand and hold it between both of my much larger ones. "Come with me." Her head comes up and she stares at me again-God, those eyes! "Give it a try. At least it can't be any worse." Lady, let me fill that emptiness in your eyes with something. Please.
She turns away and tries to pull her hand out of my grasp. I try again, one last ditch attempt. "You can make a difference."
Her head comes up and I can see tiny crystalline tears in the corners of those haunting eyes. "Alright," she says at last. "I can't promise to let go of the past, but maybe I can forget about it for a while." She stands up and holds out her hand. "I'm Rylie. Rylie Tanaka-Hayle."
I shake her hand. I think you already know who I am. And she laughs. She actually laughs!
As we leave the smoky run-down pub for the slightly brighter streets of Independence Port, I feel as if my burden has been lightened somehow. I walk a few steps behind her, a silent shield against the past that haunts her, an aegis against whatever darkness shadows her soul. I know that this fight is just beginning, but even now I can feel victory drawing nearer.
She left the helmet on her barstool.